He snorted in derision. Hadn’t he made fun, not too long ago, of a man from the recreation center where he worked out who’d met some woman online and fallen head over heels after a few brief e-mail messages? He’d thought it ridiculous, the man desperate to feel such intense emotion for someone he hardly knew. Yet sitting here, staring at the studio and trying to summon up the courage to go in, he understood that man’s feelings.
After only a few face-to-face meetings, a mere dozen less-than-meaningful conversations, and a spattering of e-mail communications, he was ... smitten.
Another snort blasted. Since when did he use old-fashioned words like smitten? He shook his head, grasping the door handle. It must be the simple setting that inspired the use of a word from time past. But the truth remained. Sean was attracted to Beth.
Taking in a great breath, he opened the door and stepped out. A mild breeze tousled his hair as he followed the smooth white sidewalk to the front door. Since his last visit, the grass had started to green up, showing the promise of spring around the corner.
Spring meant new life in so many ways. In nature, of course, but also in business. Most new contracts came in the spring, when people were ready to build. And this year, it seemed that spring had opened his heart to the idea of leaving his bachelor days behind.
He stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, the bold thought taking him by surprise. Marriage? His dad would certainly tell him it was premature to be thinking marriage. Yet in his twenty-five years of life, Sean couldn’t remember ever coming close to coupling the M word with any other female.
“Smitten for sure,” he mumbled, and he raised his hand to knock on the door.
Beth herself opened it, and he felt his shoulders tense as if she could read on his face what he had been thinking only moments before. Well, he decided, if she was able to ascertain his thoughts, she didn’t find them repulsive, because she offered a smile.
“Come on in. Is it good to be back in Kansas?”
Sean closed the door behind him and unzipped his light jacket. “It’s always good to be home.” He faltered, seeking a topic of conversation that hadn’t been covered in their brief telephone conversations and didn’t relate to the window. Suddenly one was provided without warning.
A gray and white furball zipped across the floor and dove on the shoelaces of his right shoe.
“Hey! What’s this?” The cat rolled on its back, all four feet in the air, batting at the loop that formed the bow.
Beth chuckled and picked up the cat. “This is Winky, the newest addition to Quinn’s Stained-Glass Art Studio. He thinks he owns the place, so don’t tell him otherwise.”
Sean scratched behind the cat’s ear. “Winky, huh? He’s pretty cute.”
The cat allowed Sean to make one more sweep with his fingers before it struggled in Beth’s arms, and she put him down. Straightening, she shrugged. “I guess it’s silly to have an animal running loose in here, but he’s good entertainment.”
“Not silly at all.” Sean watched the kitten crouch, its tail sweeping madly, before bouncing on a splash of sunshine on the concrete floor. “I bet he’s good company, too.”
“That he is.”
Sean looked around. “Speaking of company...” He glanced at his watch. “Has Andrew gone home already?”
Beth turned and moved toward the platform. “Our schedule has changed a bit. I don’t have Andrew on Wednesdays or Saturdays anymore. He works for his dad then.”
“Oh?” Sean trailed Beth, his gaze on the colorful array of glass on the wooden platform. “Is he easing back into farming?”
Beth released a short, humorless laugh. “No, actually he’s trying to ease out of farming.” She slipped her hands into the pockets of her apron and looked at Sean. “He’s worked a deal with his dad that if the studio picks up the contracts from your company, which means it can support a full-time staff of workers, he’ll be an artist instead of a farmer. So...” She raised her brows and quirked her lips.
Sean completed her thought. “A lot rests on this project.”
“It always has.”
Her voice sounded tight, and for a moment Sean regretted the pressure he’d put on her to meet this initial obligation. He knew the time had been short, yet he and his father had needed to see how well she stood up to pressure. The construction business was one requiring speed and accuracy. If Beth was going to be part of the team, they had to know she could meet the requirements.
“Well, let’s see how it’s going.” He tempered the words with a grin, then stepped beside her and made no pretense of doing anything but thoroughly examining every minute inch of the design.
He whistled through his teeth. The completed sections were amazing. The play of color, the illusion of some sections standing out from others, the perfect balance of lights and darks ... it was a work of art, there was no doubt.
“It looked great on paper, but in reality ... wow.”
Beth shot him a worried look. “But it isn’t done.”
“No, but I can see how much progress you’ve made since I was here last.” He pulled a camera from his jacket pocket. “I’ll take a couple of updated shots. Dad will want to see this.”
Beth stood back and allowed him to take the pictures. In the last one, her cat leaped onto the platform at the last minute. He put the camera away, laughing. “So he’s entertainment, company, and a nuisance.”
“He can be,” she agreed, shooing the cat from the platform.
Sean noticed something. “You’ve really barricaded this thing in with tacks.” He pointed to the line of nails surrounding the project. “Afraid it’s going to fall off or something?”
Beth grimaced. “No, just wanting to make sure it stays square. I want it to fit the opening you’ve got waiting for it.”
He sensed there was another reason for the number of nails. It looked as though she and Andrew had built a miniature picket fence around the window. Shaking his head, he shrugged. “It certainly looks secure.”
“Good.” Beth now sounded grim. “If it’s secure, then my future is secure.”
TWENTY-TWO
Sean, his meetings completed and a signed contract tucked securely in his leather portfolio, turned his car onto the highway and headed west. He would have rather gone south, back to Sommerfeld, to spend a pleasant evening with Beth. But she’d made it clear she needed to work.
Dad would be thrilled. Her dedication to the task was exactly what Evan McCauley wanted in employees. Sean had always seconded Dad’s opinion on that and had adopted the work ethic for himself. Even though his office was in his own home with no time card to punch or boss close by to check up on him, he’d kept the same working hours as any other businessman, even spending many Saturdays and Sunday afternoons in his office, as well. With no family of his own demanding his time, Sean’s sole focus had been McCauley Church Construction. Just like it was for Dad.
And now, it seemed, pleasing McCauley Church Construction was Beth’s focus, too. Yes, that would certainly please Dad. Sean realized he should also feel pleased. But something other than pleased flitted through his mind when he considered Beth’s response to his invitation to dinner.
The midafternoon sun glared off the hood of his car, causing him to squint. Frowning, he groped for his sunglasses in the pocket on the side of the door, slipped them into place, and rested his arm on the window ledge. He drove past a wheat field, where a plainly dressed man with a beard used a tractor with metal wheels to pull an implement that looked like it came straight from an antique store. Yet the outdated equipment seemed to be getting the job done, as the wheat fell in a neat swath.
The sight of the farmer—although Sean was sure this man was Amish rather than Mennonite, judging by the beard—reminded him of Beth’s comment about Andrew trying to ease out of farming. What an awkward position for the man—answering to a woman in a workplace. Sean couldn’t imagine that being the norm in the Old Order community.
Although he hadn’t spent a great
deal of time in Sommerfeld, he surmised the religious group would discourage women from being in positions of leadership over men. Yet there was Andrew, contentedly following Beth’s instructions in the hopes of never planting another crop.
Or was there a deeper hope existing in the tall man’s heart?
Sean snorted. No sense in creating problems where none existed. Even though Sean suspected Andrew’s protectiveness of Beth went beyond mere employee to employer, he knew Beth held no interest in Andrew outside of his assistance in the studio. Neither her words nor her actions even hinted at a personal interest in Andrew. Sean had no competition there.
Competition. Shaking his head, he hit the button to roll down the window and let the rushing air cool his warm face. He’d be better off focusing on the competitors for his business. Although McCauley held its own in the world of construction, it still took considerable time and attention to stay in the game. Juggling three projects while planning six more was Dad’s goal, and that took time. Sean didn’t have time to be dwelling on a relationship with a pretty artist. Especially when the relationship must be handled long-distance.
Still, thoughts of Beth—wisps of hair slipping free of her ever-present ponytail to frame her heart-shaped face, the little cleft in her delicate chin, and the determination in her bright blue eyes—teased him all the way home.
***
“Amen.”
Beth cupped her hand beneath her mother’s elbow and helped her rise from a kneeling position. Although she’d gotten over the initial embarrassment of kneeling in a room full of people for the closing prayer at service, she wished they would set aside the tradition for the sake of her mother. As Mom’s pregnancy progressed, she could hardly get back to her feet. And since Henry sat on the opposite side of the church in the men’s section, it was up to Beth to assist her.
Beth’s aunt Joanna offered help on the other side, and between the two of them, they helped Mom settle on the bench.
“Whew,” Mom huffed, as if she’d done the work alone. “It’s a good thing the end is in sight, because I don’t know how many more times I’ll be able to do this.”
Joanna sat down and took her sister’s hand, giving it several pats. “How many more weeks?”
“Seven weeks and two days,” Mom answered promptly, “but who’s counting?”
The two women laughed.
“I’m counting.” Beth made the firm assertion. “I have enough to worry about at the studio without worrying about Mom’s swollen feet and stomachaches.”
Joanna tipped her head back and stared at Beth in surprise. “Why, you don’t need to worry about those things, Beth. Those are very typical for expectant mothers.” Her smile didn’t quite convince Beth. “You’ll see when you get married and carry your first child. It’s all just part of the price we pay for the privilege of creating new life.”
Beth arched one brow. “Maybe...”
“No ‘maybe’ about it,” Mom insisted as she planted her hands against the backless bench and pushed to her feet. “These babies are worth every bit of trouble.” She cupped her expanded girth, chuckling softly. “And truthfully? They are probably less trouble in here than they will be after they’re born.”
She and Joanna shared more smiles. Beth had little to offer in the way of experience. But like her mother, she was ready to see the pregnancy over and these babies born so things could settle down.
Henry wove his way through little clusters of congregants who gathered to talk before heading home for a good dinner. He stopped beside Beth and put his hand on her shoulder. Although the touch was not inappropriate and although there were times Beth longed for a closer relationship, she still squirmed a bit under the familiar gesture. When would her prayers to finally feel completely at ease with her stepfather be answered?
“Did you invite Beth to dinner?” Henry asked.
“She knows she has a standing invitation,” Mom replied, sending Beth a quick grin. “I invited my parents today, so it would be nice if you would join us.”
It had taken a long time for Beth to develop a relationship with the grandfather who had refused to acknowledge her existence for the first two decades of her life. But both Grandpa and Grandma Koeppler had gone overboard in the past year to make up for their earlier neglect. In fact, Grandpa Koeppler was convinced her talent in art came from him since he enjoyed creating works of art from wood. He had been her biggest supporter when the studio was constructed.
It had been awhile, though—since the McCauley project started, to be exact—since she’d spent an afternoon with her grandparents. So she eagerly accepted her mother’s invitation.
“I’ll come on one condition.” Beth shook her finger at her mother. “You let me serve and clean up afterward.”
Mom laughed lightly, but she nodded. “I’ll take you up on that, honey. Thank you.”
Mom had put pork chops with cranberry sauce, sliced onions, and green peppers in the oven to slow bake. Henry insisted Mom sit with Grandpa Koeppler in the front room while Grandma sliced home-baked bread, Beth boiled water for instant rice, and he placed the plates and silverware on the table.
The smells teased Beth’s senses, and her stomach growled, reminding her how her eating schedule had gone haywire in the past weeks. She could hardly wait until they sat down to eat. With five chairs around the kitchen’s round table, their elbows touched, but no one seemed to mind. Grandpa asked the blessing, and they chatted as they enjoyed the meal.
Well, Beth acknowledged with a small stab of discomfort, Mom and Grandma chatted, and Henry and Grandpa chatted, but she ended up being left out of most of the conversation. It wasn’t intentional—she knew that—but the odd number simply left her without a conversation partner. For a brief moment, she wished her parents had asked someone—Andrew? Trina?—to join them so she wouldn’t feel so ... ignored. Then Grandpa accidentally bumped her elbow, and she realized that even if they had asked someone else, there wouldn’t be room for another person at this table.
In fact, she thought as her scowling gaze swept around the periphery of the table, once those twins were born, there wouldn’t really be room for her here. The thought ruined what was left of her appetite, and she put down her fork.
Mom glanced over at the clink of the silverware against the plate. “Are you finished?”
Beth glanced at her plate. She hated to waste food, especially food that had only moments ago given her taste buds great pleasure. But she knew she wouldn’t be able to swallow another bite. “Yes.” She pushed away from the table. “Do you want me to cut the pie and put it on dessert plates?”
Mom started to rise, too. “Let me get the ice cream out of—”
“I’ll do it,” Beth said, rising quickly. “You stay put.”
She listened to the continued conversation as she sliced the apple pie purchased at Deborah’s café. Once each slice had been topped with a healthy scoop of vanilla ice cream, she carried the plates to the table and refilled the coffee cups for her grandparents and stepfather. Mom had sworn off coffee for the duration of her pregnancy, claiming the caffeine created water retention. Beth didn’t think Mom could possible retain any more fluid than she already had.
Even though she didn’t cut a piece of pie for herself, she did sit down and sip coffee while the others ate.
Grandpa slurped at his cup, then gave her a speculative look, his bushy gray brows high. “So I hear you have lots of windows to build.”
Beth resisted shaking her head. Word sure got around if it made it all the way out to Grandpa’s farm! “Yes, they’re waiting for me. But I have to finish the first project McCauley gave me to their satisfaction before they’ll trust me with anything else.”
“Well, that Andrew is helping you, isn’t he? At least, his dad was fussing that the boy is always at your studio.” Grandpa’s voice held a note of teasing.
Beth chose to ignore the insinuation that Andrew hung around the studio for reasons other than working. “He’s there quite a bi
t, but he’s helping his dad, too. I know he wants to work at the studio full-time, though.”
Grandma nodded slowly. “He’s always been different from his brothers, not interested in farming and such. It’s good there’s something he likes to do that is close by.”
“He’s a big help to me at the studio.” Beth drew a thoughtful sip of the hot liquid before continuing. “But even with his help, we’ve had some trouble finishing this one large project. I’m pushing mighty close to that deadline. It makes me a little nervous, thinking about the big windows waiting for me.”
“Maybe I can come in and help,” Grandpa said.
Beth imagined her elderly grandfather bending over the high worktable or on his knees beside the platform. Neither picture would gel. But she wouldn’t tell him that. “If you want to spend a day at the studio, you’re more than welcome, Grandpa.”
He nudged her with his elbow and grinned, his lips twitching. “I build things, too, you know. In my woodshop. It’s pretty much the same thing.” Suddenly his face lit. “Say, I have an idea. We could work together. I could build cabinets, and you could make stained-glass windows to put in the door panels.”
Without intending to, Beth groaned.
Grandpa reared back, his forehead creasing. “You don’t like the idea?”
“Oh, no, it’s a great idea. I love it, actually!” She touched his arm. “It would be an honor, considering the furniture making that’s been done in the family throughout generations. Then I’d have a part in that, too.” She sighed. “No, it’s just the idea of one more project. Right now it’s a little overwhelming.”
“So hire workers,” Henry said. He pushed his empty pie plate aside and draped his arm across the back of Mom’s chair. “You know McCauley plans to use you. You’ve seen a contract to know how much they will pay, so we could sit down and figure out the hourly wage you could offer.”
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